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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909496">A Soldier's Lot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLadyBast/pseuds/GreyLadyBast'>GreyLadyBast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Original Character Death(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:40:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLadyBast/pseuds/GreyLadyBast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would rather have stayed there in peace.”  ----The Two Towers, Book IV, Chapter 4, ‘Of Herbs And Stewed Rabbit’</i>
</p><p>Remember that Southron soldier who fell dead at Sam's feet in The Two Towers, after the oliphaunt sighting? Ever wonder who he was?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Thinking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Book-verse</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We ride to war We shall reclaim what was stolen by the usurpers of Gondor! To war!” the speaker cries out, shaking his weapon. He is rousing the troops, preparing us to ride in the name of Sauron.</p><p>In truth, his words do not move me. I do not wish to leave my wife and daughter to make war at the behest of Sauron. Yes, I know those of Gondor have oppressed us. I am aware the Blood of Numenor betrayed us all those long years ago. I simply do not see what all this ancient history has to do with my life now. We of the Haradrim are prosperous, in our way. We lacked for little until the Lord Sauron came and inflamed our leaders with old hatreds. What good are old hatreds to anyone? Let them lie, I say. Past is past and done is done, my father always said, and there is no good in stirring up trouble. Let Gondor look to Gondor and Sauron, with his foul Orcs, look to Sauron. We of the Haradrim should look to ourselves.</p><p>I do not understand why our leaders cleave unto this Sauron, anyway. The mere mention of his name makes my flesh crawl. I feel no good can come of fighting for him. It seems to me that we should be fighting against him, but that is not my decision. I do not like it. I do not have to.</p><p>It is not my lot to set policy, nor to council kings. I am a soldier. I go where I am sent, fight who I am instructed to fight, die when it is time to die. I wish it were not so. Before this war, I was a cobbler. I would much prefer to be at home, making beautiful and useful shoes for my people. But this is war, and according to our leaders, war does not need cobblers.</p><p>I miss my profession. I miss my shop, my customers, the feel of my tools and the smell of the leather. I miss my wife and my daughter, so beautiful and beloved. I want only to return to my life, to hold my family again. I hope I make it home alive.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Marching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We march. Endless and unchanging, we march to war. The mûmakil lead, of course, with the officers astride them. As a simple craftsman, I march behind. The mûmakil leave their droppings where they pass so we in ranks must take care not to step in them. The march goes on.</p><p>With me march others of my class. Ahmond the Jeweler is several ranks ahead of me. His son often plays with my daughter at home where we belong. Ahmond and I have made plans for them to marry once the war is over.</p><p>Next to me marches Takat the Tailor, my best friend in all the world. He catches my eye and smiles, “you are quiet, friend Kujan. Think you we will see battle soon?” </p><p>“I am certain we will. We must ride through Ithilien on our way to accursed Gondor. Their Rangers will not suffer us to pass lightly,” I reply.</p><p>Takat nods in agreement. He comments, “I hear they ride demon steeds that breathe fire and eat the souls of men.”</p><p>I snort, “you pay too much attention to the tales of the bards.”</p><p>My friend laughs and teases me, “ah yes, flights of fancy are not to your liking. Lisel complains of it often to Sorchet.”</p><p>I wish he would not mention our wives. I miss my Lisel with a physical ache. Ah, Lisel, most beautiful flower in our land! Your hair is like unto the raven’s wing, your skin the silken brown of sweet tea, your eyes golden as new honey. Golden eyes are rare among our people, yet yours shine only for me. I would give anything to be home with you now, with you and our daughter. Instead, I march while Takat chatters unheard beside me.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The battle raged long and fierce. The barbarian Rangers are as fearsome as the tales claim, though their steeds do not breathe fire. Most of our men have fallen, including Ahmond the Jeweler. I myself have taken many grievous wounds. They are fatal, I believe.</p><p>My body is flung away from the battle. I land hard on my stomach, but I do not feel it. I crane my neck up, to catch my last glimpse of sky. I wish I could see my homeland one more time, but I cannot. I must make do with simple sky.</p><p>It is not as difficult as I expected, the dying. I ache more for my daughter, now fatherless, and my Lisel, now husbandless. I pray that Takat will take care of them, if he lives, and his wife Sorchet will comfort them.</p><p>Out of the corner of my eye, I can see standing above me a child with the face of a man. The bards tell of his kind, but I did not believe until now. This creature out of legend stares down at me. I cannot tell if he can see my face, but I can see his. It is clouded with pity and confusion, many questions in his eyes.</p><p>I would answer his questions if I could. I would tell him of my home. I would tell him how my wife and daughter adore the tales of his kind. I wish I could return to Lisel and tell her I saw one of her legends come to life. She would have adored hearing it.</p><p>I watch him watch me die. A tear slips down his oddly mature little face. I notice he is unshod. I think I must craft shoes for him someday.</p><p>~Fin~</p><p>
  <i>“It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would rather have stayed there in peace.”  ----The Two Towers, Book IV, Chapter 4, ‘Of Herbs And Stewed Rabbit’</i>
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